


On Our Side

by Mizmak



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Pre-Scene: Body Swap (Good Omens), Romance, Romantic Friendship, Romantic Soulmates, Short & Sweet, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21594985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak
Summary: After thwarting Armageddon, Aziraphale and Crowley return to Crowley's flat in London where, over a bottle of champagne, they try to figure out what Agnes Nutter's final prophecy meant
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 64





	On Our Side

On Our Side

Aziraphale had never been inside Crowley’s flat before, and his first impression was not good. All steel and glass and sharpness and darkness everywhere he looked, except for the plants. And the plants, he could tell, were terrified.

“Crowley….” 

“Mm?” His friend had sauntered in, tossed his sunglasses on a glass-topped table, and headed straight for a well-stocked bar. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“But that’s just it.” Aziraphale scanned the living area for anything remotely inviting. “I mean, my dear fellow, there _isn’t_ anywhere comfortable.”

“Yeah, well, demons have _standards_.”

“Unpleasant ones, if you ask me.” He couldn’t even see an armchair, only hard metal ones. How did Crowley manage his typical sprawl in those? “Couldn’t you manage at least _one_ nice spot for company?”

“I don’t _have_ company.”

Aziraphale believed him, and found that rather sad. “Well, _I’m_ here.”

“So you are.” Crowley smiled as he snapped his fingers.

The glass and chrome and steel vanished, replaced by a cozy, low-ceilinged room with a stone fireplace, blazing with warmth. Two overstuffed armchairs faced the hearth, with a plush rug underneath. A small ornate wooden table stood between the chairs. 

Aziraphale smiled back. “ _Thank_ you.” He sat down.

Crowley soon joined him, sprawled halfway in, halfway out the other armchair. He handed Aziraphale a glass. “Champagne.” He held up his own. “To celebrate the end of the end of the world.”

They clinked glasses. It was an excellent vintage, exactly to his tastes. Well, they _had_ known each other for six thousand years, though Aziraphale sometimes doubted Crowley’s ability to pay attention to anything other than his own needs. He was a demon, after all. Yet he paid rather a lot of attention to an angel’s needs, and that felt special indeed.

He glanced up at the bare mantel. It needed something, perhaps a photograph. Yes, that was typical mantel décor. Aziraphale felt a tiny twinge of naughtiness as he waved a hand through the air, for he had a feeling Crowley would not be pleased by his choice.

A large framed photograph appeared above the fireplace, a picture of the two of them as he remembered from the very beginning. They stood close together, one with white wings, one with black, atop the walls of Eden. Aziraphale held a wing over Crowley’s head as the rains began, giving no thought to his own protection.

Given that there were no cameras six thousand years ago, he felt rather pleased with the result of his conjuring ability. It looked quite real.

He watched as Crowley stared at the picture, expecting, as usual, for him to make a derisive sound or negative remark. When the silence went on for too long, he worried that he’d gone too far, that Crowley hated it. 

Aziraphale swallowed hard. He should have known Crowley wouldn’t feel the same way about these things, that his feelings weren’t as deep. He raised his hand to wave the fake photo into oblivion, and was surprised when Crowley reached over to grab his wrist and guide his arm back down to the chair.

“Leave it.”

“But I thought—“

“It’s fine.” Crowley closed his eyes and released a small sigh. He opened his eyes and said softly, “Why did we ever fight – you and I?”

Aziraphale choked back tears at the unexpected sentiment. Haltingly, he said, “We were enemies…” Then he realized something he had always known and never acknowledged until now. “We were _supposed_ to be enemies.” The Great Plan – the damned Great Almighty Plan – had cursed them from the start, never giving them a chance to be anything other than an angel and a demon. “I’m not sure now that we ever truly were…the Great Plan _failed_.”

“Or,” Crowley said, “it was really the _Ineffable_ plan all along.”

Yes. He liked that idea very much. “Must be, as here we are, both of us, not precisely what we _thought_ we were meant to be. I think.”

“I never meant to be a demon,” Crowley replied. “Just asked too many questions. The Almighty doesn’t like being questioned. And then I ran into some other angels asking questions and getting up to no good, and you know, I was bored, wanted to have a lark. That’s all it took.”

“I know you once said that you were unforgiveable, but the Almighty _is_ omnipotent. Did you ever think of…um…at least _asking_ for forgiveness?” Even as he said it, Aziraphale realized how unlikely it sounded.

Crowley laughed. “Nah. Not my style. Not that hell was exactly my style, either. It’s a damnable place to be, even if all the _interesting_ people are there. But then I got assigned to Earth, and _that_ was much better than Hell, and a thousand times better than Heaven. I mean, truthfully, how much celestial harmony can one angel stand?”

Aziraphale knew all too well how “native” he had gone, and how quickly he had fallen in love with being on Earth. “So as long as you were on Earth, you didn’t mind as much – being a demon.”

“I went native,” Crowley replied, echoing Aziraphale’s own thoughts. “Can’t say I was ever that good at my job, anyway. Especially not after our little arrangement.”

“Yes, that was a brilliant stroke on your part.” Being an angel, he’d naturally resisted the idea of doing each other favors to make their lives easier. But he’d come round, and he was glad after all, that he had. He might never have had enough time for his bookshop for one thing, if he’d had to do all his own miracles all of the time.

“You know,” Crowley said, “it’s a long time to be doing heaven or hell’s work on Earth -- six thousand years. I’m surprised they never thought of swapping us out for new blood. We didn’t even get any holiday leave.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Not necessary. Where would either of us have gone on holiday? And I’m glad they never replaced us. That would have meant returning to heaven.” _Alone_.

“Not something you’d ever wanted to do, then?”

Aziraphale felt a distinct shiver at the thought. “I must admit, Heaven can be a little dull.” He smiled. “No crepes, for one thing.”

“And no alcohol.”

Indeed. Earth was where Aziraphale wanted to be, where he wanted to stay. Forever. He looked at the photograph. And he wanted to have his best friend at his side, forever. He sank a little further into the comfort of the armchair. 

“It’s definitely better on Earth then on Alpha Centauri.”

“Yeah. I don’t think there are any sushi restaurants out there.”

Aziraphale recalled the moment Crowley suggested running off together, the two of them, off the Earth entirely, to avoid Armageddon. He had hurt Crowley then, he knew, by refusing to go along, and by trying to cut the bond between them. He hated doing it, but he believed at the time that he had to choose his own side then – he was an angel. 

And he recalled the overwhelming pain he’d felt when he realized he’d been wrong.

“You all right?” Crowley asked. “Gone a bit quiet. Are you having deep angelic thoughts?”

Aziraphale looked at him, at the face he’d known for so very, very long, known as well as his own face. “I…I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For lying to you at the gazebo. I lied when I said we weren’t friends. I lied when I told you we had nothing in common. And I lied when I said I didn’t even like you.” He paused to take a deep breath. “It was never about liking you. It was always about love.”

He looked down at his glass, unable to keep looking at Crowley. Then he closed his eyes as he realized how amazingly happy the confession made him.

“I know,” Crowley said softly.

Aziraphale opened his eyes and looked over at him. “Angels aren’t supposed to lie,” he said with a smile.

Crowley raised his glass. “I forgive you.” He clinked it against Aziraphale’s glass, and they both drank deeply.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the dancing flames in the fireplace. Then Crowley got restless and adjusted his sprawl, and as he fidgeted, something poked out from his jeans pocket.

“Hm…what’s this, then?” He pulled out a piece of paper. “Oh, yeah. Agnes Nutter’s final prophecy.” He peered at the old scrap of paper. “What do you think it means?”

Aziraphale took the paper. _When alle is fayed and all is done, ye must choofe your faces wisely, for soon enouff ye will be playing with fyre._ He read it aloud. “Intriguing. All _is_ said and done, isn’t it?”

“I should bloody well hope so.”

“So why would we still be playing with fire? It _is_ meant for us, I presume.” The paper had fallen right into his hand, and after the way all the other prophecies turned out correctly, he couldn’t believe that anything involving them was pure chance. This seemed directed at them personally.

“I don’t mind playing with fire,” Crowley said. “Doesn’t bother a demon, fire.”

“Obviously. You drove a flaming car through an inferno.”

Crowley groaned. “My _car_. My beautiful, perfect Bentley. _Gone_.”

He was sorry he’d mentioned it. “Surely there must be others out there.”

“No. No, no, no, _no_. One of a kind.”

“Had to be done, though.” Aziraphale thought wistfully of that wondrous, incredible joy that swept through him when he saw Crowley pull up to them at the air base, and step from the burning car. The very sight of him had cut Aziraphale’s fear in half. “You can’t save the world without a few sacrifices.”

Crowley smiled. “I broke a pair of sunglasses, too.”

“That must have been painful.”

“And I used up all of your holy water on a fellow demon. Nasty.”

Aziraphale felt relief at that, knowing the dangerous liquid was no longer in Crowley’s hands. He’d never wanted to give the water to Crowley in the first place, but after all the things Crowley had done for him, after all the times he’d saved him, Aziraphale felt he had to do it. “You may not fear fire, but holy water --- that would destroy you, and I’m happy it’s gone.”

Crowley shivered. “Too right. Wouldn’t fancy a bath in that.”

“While of course, it wouldn’t bother _me_.” Aziraphale thought fondly of what a bath in heavenly water might feel like. “Should think it would be ever so lovely.”

Crowley snorted, one of his less endearing habits. “Listen to yourself, ‘ever so lovely’. Have you _seen_ what that damned water can do to someone like me?”

“Well, now that you mention it, there was an episode during the sixteenth century.” Aziraphale hated to recall that horrid moment. “I’d been asked to assist a priest in an exorcism. Seems one of your lot got into the chancel. No idea how. Got stuck in there, and the priest sprinkled holy water all over, and….” He stopped, not wanting to describe the fiery, screaming demise of the demon.

“ _And_?” Crowley leaned over the chair arm towards him. “Not a pretty sight, was it?”

Aziraphale nodded. “The stuff of nightmares.” He took a long sip of his champagne. He couldn’t let that happen to Crowley.

Crowley leaned over a bit farther to pluck the prophecy scrap from him. He studied it. “’Choose your faces wisely.’ That’s a bit of an odd thing to write. How do you choose your face?”

“I’m not sure.” Aziraphale thought back to the former nun’s hospital, where they had been confronted by a man with a paint gun, and how Crowley had caused him to faint by changing his appearance briefly into that of a monster. That was temporary, though. “We can make our faces change when needed, for a while.”

“Yeah.” Crowley chuckled. “Like that bastard at the hospital. I enjoyed doing that.”

“You would.” Of course, it had been necessary to do _something_ to get past the fellow. “Not very nice, though.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“Oh, right.” Crowley stood. “I believe my glass is empty.” He strolled over to the kitchen and returned with the bottle. “Top you off?”

Aziraphale held up his half-empty glass. Crowley filled it, then set the bottle on the table and sank into his armchair. “You know, this chair is a lot more comfortable than the ones I chose.”

“That’s because everything you chose in here is too modern.”

“I like to move with the times.”

“Yes, well, sometimes the past was a better place to be.”

“Not in _my_ book.”

“You don’t even read books. And what about your car? 1920 or such, wasn’t it?”

Crowley groaned. “ _Please_ don’t talk about the car.”

“I’m so sorry.” He’d done it again. The car was gone. So was his bookshop. _Sacrifices._

As if reading his mind, Crowley said, “And you lost your bookshop.”

“You went inside,” Aziraphale replied, “while it was still burning?” He must have done, in order to grab Agnes’ book.

Crowley shuddered. “I thought you were in there. And when I couldn’t find you, I thought…I thought you were gone. And you _were_ gone.”

“I didn’t _mean_ to be discorporated. It was an accident.” He had felt very lost then, without his proper body, not knowing if he’d ever be able to return to Earth, or to help save it, or…or to ever see his friend again.

“I nearly took off for Alpha Centauri right there and then,” Crowley said. “What was the use of hanging about?”

“Well, you could have hung about to try saving the world.”

Crowley picked up the bottle of champagne and topped off their glasses again. “Not without you.” He set the near empty bottle down. 

“Ah. Even after everything I said. The…lies I told.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “You think an angel can fool a demon with lies? We’re past masters of lying. A liar has to be subtle, he has to make it sound as if it _could_ be true.”

“I see.”

“So I didn’t want to go on saving the Earth,” Crowley said. “Not on my own. Was going to go pack my bags, but before I did anything stupid, I needed a drink. A whole lot of drinks.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

“Don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t found me.”

Aziraphale had never experienced anything so disorienting as discorporation. He’d had no idea how to navigate the ether…or whatever it was he found himself floating around in, and it had been a tremendous struggle, trying to work his way back to London. But when he focused on Crowley, suddenly the path became clear. “I knew where to find you. I always do.” And Crowley always knew where to find _him_. They had been tuned to each other’s presence through all the centuries.

“Pity it can’t last,” Crowley said wistfully. “Not fair, really. We finally get everything sorted out – you know – no more ‘your side’ or ‘my side’ – it’s finally just ‘our side’, and soon it’ll all be gone."

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale didn’t like the way this was going at all.

“Come on, you know what’s likely to happen.” Crowley sighed. “We are in very big trouble with our former respective bosses. You think they’re going to just chalk it up to incompetence and call it a day?”

Aziraphale had been trying hard not to think about the consequences of their actions in preventing Armageddon. He knew very well the Almighty would not be pleased. “I suppose not.”

“No, you suppose not, and I _know_ not. My lot will be after blood. Or whatever we have. I’m surprised they haven’t come for me already. Except they’re a bureaucracy, and they’re always cocked up.”

“Heaven is rather bureaucratic, too.” Maybe they’d have a nice, long respite before the inevitable end.

“But they’ll get around to it eventually. And then—“ Crowley drew a line across his throat. “ _Toast_.”

“Oh, dear.” He didn’t want to be toast. Or for Crowley to be toast, either. “But what can we do?” Surely they could do _something_. They had never given up, not on _anything_.

“Boil in hell fire, for you, I should imagine.” Crowley fingered the prophecy. “Hm. ‘Soon enough, you will be playing with fire.’”

“What?” Aziraphale sat up straight. “What did you say?”

“Agnes Nutter knew. She wrote it out for you. Playing with fire – hell fire. That’s what destroys angels, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale shuddered. “A burning column of hell fire.”

“You wouldn’t fancy that. And I’d _really_ hate taking a holy water bath. But at least we’d go at the same time, I reckon. No more of this leaving one behind.”

“We _must_ be able to do something.” Aziraphale willed himself to sober up. He needed to be more clear-headed. As he concentrated, the champagne bottle refilled halfway. “The prophecy _must_ mean something. It’s telling us what to do.”

“’Choose your faces wisely,’” Crowley read. “It’s nonsense.” He tossed the paper into the fireplace. “Take _that_ , you damned witch.” But the paper somehow popped right out of the flames and landed on the rug, crackling with fire. Crowley snatched it up and blew on it. “Look at that, good as new.” He held up the smoldering paper.

Aziraphale stared at Crowley’s unsinged fingers. “Wait – that’s it!” He felt a glimmer of hope. “It’s as I said before, fire doesn’t _bother_ you! And holy water doesn’t bother _me_.”

Crowley sat up straight. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that _you_ could go to heaven and stand in a pillar of hell fire without blinking an eye, while I could go to hell and have a lovely holy water bath.” The prophecy’s meaning had become clear to him.

“And nobody’s supposed to notice?” Crowley stared at him, confusion on his face. Then he furrowed his brow in concentration as the champagne bottle filled to the top, and as he sobered, the confusion cleared. He broke into a grin. “No, _nobody_ will notice. We’ll be wearing different _faces_.”

“Not only faces. Our entire bodies.” Aziraphale set down his glass and clapped his hands in glee. “A body swap! _That’s_ what Agnes meant!”

Crowley gave him a long look-over. “Not sure I want to be in your body. Bit too nice.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “The feeling is mutual, my dear fellow. But it’s the only chance we have. And the sooner the better – they could come for us any minute. Any _second_.”

Crowley frowned. “Have you ever done this before?”

“Of course not. I understand the theory, though.”

“So do I. Wishful thinking, mostly.”

“I believe we start the process by holding hands.”

“Oh, yeah. Great.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile. “Think of it as a way of getting to know each other even _better_.”

Crowley laughed. “Not possible. Know you too well as it is.”

Aziraphale glanced around the lovingly crafted room. “Yes, I believe you do.” He felt closer to Crowley in that moment than he had in all the preceding six thousand years of their friendship. And as Crowley had pointed out, there were no more sides anymore, only _their_ side, together. “Take my hand.” He held it out.

“Will I have to say things like ‘ineffable’ and ‘tickety-boo’?”

“I should think you would.”

“Well, then, you have to give out a good ‘bloody hell’ at least once, then.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I promise. Are you ready?” He paused. “ Can you do this?”

Crowley reached over to take his hand. “For you, my dear fellow, anything.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes. It took a lot of concentration, and a minor miracle, but when he opened them again, he was in Crowley’s body, and Crowley was in his, and all, he felt, would now come right in the end.

And so it did.

###


End file.
